


quiet

by rosielibrary



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fluff, Heart-to-Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosielibrary/pseuds/rosielibrary
Summary: what do you mean i have a fic called loud with stan and this is quiet with ford i don't know what you mean(for an anon going thru a friend break-up and wanted some ford fluff <3 )





	quiet

The shack, uncharacteristically silent, feels lonely as you peek out from the storage room, the blanket from your makeshift bed draped around your shoulders. Moonlight sifts through the Venetian blinds and leaves horizontal lines across the floor to guide you towards the stairs, carefully feeling for each one with your bare feet as you descend to the lower level of the house. Unlike its usual booming noise from each corner, you find stillness to be your only company when you come to the living room.

As you need, if you’re being honest with yourself.

You sink into Stan’s canary-colored recliner and tuck your legs beneath you, bringing the blanket close around you. The wide dip in the chair melds to your boss’s build, not yours, so you feel small atop the memory-creased cushion; the smallness brings an odd comfort. You lean into the chair and exhale— you feel more comfortable here than you did on your mattress upstairs.

You settle, eyes adjusting to the familiar shapes around the room as you stare off into space, daydreaming. Well, it’s 4am, does that count as daydreaming? Never mind. Still. You’re lost in thought, examining a peeling corner of wallpaper, when you see the light flick on in the kitchen. Dipper and Mabel had long since gone to bed, and you heard Stan snoring when you crossed the hall past his bedroom— but not Ford. Your process of elimination skills prove correct as you pad into the kitchen to find his back to you, a pot of water on the stove and a mug at the ready. His usually ruffled hair looks messier than ever, shoulders hunched, six fingers drumming on the kitchen counter. Attempting to avoid startling him, you clear your throat as you walk in, and Ford turns to face you, surprised (but thankfully not scared out of his wits).

“Oh, I didn’t— I’m terribly sorry, did I wake you?”

He didn’t, you reassure, your voice quiet versus his. You couldn’t sleep so you came down here.

“Seems we’re both restless souls tonight.” Ford smiles at you, one you can’t help but return. “Lost in thought and lost track of time— found myself unable to rest once I eventually tried.”

Preaching to the choir. Your heart flutters when he laughs, and you feel his gaze on you as you fix a glass of water. He offers something warmer, but you politely decline, not wanting to make him boil more water (it takes long enough as it is).

You both go quiet, nursing your respective drinks in the dimly-lit kitchen. Ford tends to his coffee (at 4am it seems like a bad idea) and you curl your fingers around your glass, staring down at your reflection. He sits across from you and you look back up to find he already meets your eye.

“Is something the matter?”

Yes.

You say no. He doesn’t need to know. You strain a smile that you hope looks convincing, but both of you know Ford’s too clever for that.

“Obviously not.” Ford’s voice softens. “Your face is tear-streaked.”

Fingers fly up to feel at your cheek— sure enough, you feel where they ran down from earlier and left telltale stripes that probably shone under the light above the table. You swipe at your skin and try to smear them off.

“I—“ He stops, thinks his words through. “If you don’t want to explain, you don’t have to. I know you and I don’t know each other that well yet, and I’ve never been the best with… This sort of… emotion.”

Ford offers you a sympathetic smile.

“But I’m willing to listen, if you need able ears.”

You and Ford haven’t held a conversation this long before, one-sided as it is, and his kindness surprises you. Working the cash register for Stan means you see him sporadically, whenever he comes upstairs and off on a mission to the woods, Dipper tagging close behind. Mabel’s filled you in on the “hot goss” about your boss’s twin brother, but apart from Mabel’s severely embellished tales, you don’t know much about Ford.

Even so… He’s so kind, even just offering to listen. You remember why you were so sad in the first place and a fresh tear travels down the streak Ford pointed out earlier; you don’t miss his sudden jolt of “oh god they’re crying what do I do” so you wave a hand at him, dismissing his attempt to stand up.

“I’m not sure what to— What can I—?”

You tell him you’re fine, really, it’s just… You sniff, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, and Ford passes you a tissue.

Just listen, if he doesn’t mind. That’s all he needs to do.

“I can certainly do that.”

You suck in a breath and start explaining. It’s trivial, if you think about it as an outsider, but at 4am when you’re alone it stings. Friend drama without context sounds that way, so you give as much about it as you can without making Ford more confused than he already looks. By the time you finish, your glass of water is empty, along with Ford’s coffee, both your thirsts slaked. You look down at the table, mumbling about how dumb it sounds, you probably talked too much—

He calls your name. It aptly silences you and you look up, sniffing again.

“It’s not dumb. Conflict with your friends is just as hard as any sort of splitting of ties.”

Ford stills, sorting his reply in his head. He rubs the back of his neck.

“I had something similar many years ago. … With Stanley. I won’t detail it now, but we went our separate ways and didn’t speak for… a long time.”

When you ask how long, his reply of “ten years” makes you glad you drank your water already.

“Of course, he’s my brother— a different situation to yours. But the sentiment stands.”

He pauses again. You’re thankful he thinks through his words; it gives you a moment to get another tissue.

“Friends are difficult. When it comes to keeping relationships strong, it’s trial and error at its finest, you see. You never know exactly what’s going on in their mind, unless they’re wearing the truth-telling teeth I came across—“

You can’t tell if he’s, ironically, telling the truth, but you don’t interject.

“— You just have to hope that they’ll like you for who you are. Because in the end, that’s all you can be— yourself. Now usually I would say it doesn’t matter what they think if you’re smart enough to know better… But what happened with yourself and your friend obviously hurt you a great deal. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You stay quiet, but give him a small, thankful smile. He softens, reaching across the table and tentatively patting your hand.

“They’re probably a lizard person anyway.”

You burst into giggles at that and Ford laughs with you, though something tells you he might’ve been serious.

“Whatever happens, I know you’ll make better friends. Ones who aren’t lizard people. If your friend can’t see that you’re a good friend no matter what mistakes you made, then they’re the one making the mistake. From what I know about you— and from what Stanley’s told me— you’re a great person, kind and patient with the worse patrons of the gift shop. Dipper and Mabel certainly like you a great deal. And… I think you’re wonderful, as well.”

You might just be exhausted, but you catch Ford’s cheeks flush a slight pink.

“If they can’t see that, then they don’t deserve you.”

And now you’re blushing. Fabulous. You thank Ford quietly, patting his hand in return. The two of you sit, going between silence and hushed banter, for another hour— once again losing track of time, but finding yourself with a new friend. Once you both look out the kitchen window to find the sun casting pine-tree shadows over the front of the house, Ford stands up, taking his cup (and yours, the gentleman) to the sink to wash… Tomorrow, he decides.

“We should probably get some rest…”

You nod, realizing that staying up almost all night probably wasn’t your best idea yet, what with having to work tomorrow… But you’re glad you did anyway. You thank Ford again for listening to you vent, and for keeping you company in the wee hours of the night. The sunlight from outside illuminates his face— you know you’re not imagining it when you see him blush again.

“Oh, it’s really no problem. I’m— I’m happy I could help.” Ford smiles warmly at you as you stand from the table, your blanket tossed over one shoulder. “I’m happy to listen whenever you need someone to. You know where I am.”

You’ll have to bribe Dipper to get the code for the vending machine, you joke, and Ford laughs. He’s usually down there too, so Ford scribbles the code out on a sticky note pulled from within a kitchen drawer and hands it to you.

It’s like he gave you his number or something, the way you feel your stomach flip. Maybe you’re just really tired… And that’s obviously why you step forward and gingerly hug him, resting your head on his chest.

Ford freezes, and something in you feels mortified you crossed such a boundary, but then the rest of you feels his arm around your shoulder, holding you tight against him, and you’re thankful he didn’t, like, throw you across the room. You’ve heard the stories from Mabel, you know he’s strong.

“You must be exhausted… That’s why you collapsed, huh.”

Wait, what?

“Let’s get you back to bed. It’s almost six in the morning, no wonder you fell asleep on your feet.”

Oh god, he read this completely differently. Oh god, he thinks you passed out on his chest. Oh god he’s pat-patting the top of your head to wake you up… How (for lack of a better word) cute.

You lift yourself back up and rub your eyes, acting as best you can that you fell asleep for a hot minute, and Ford puts a gentle hand to the small of your back to lead you upstairs to your room. He doesn’t go as far as to tuck you in (like Mabel did earlier that night) but pauses at the open door, about to turn to leave before you stop him in his tracks.

As soon as he turns to face you, you’ve lost your train of thought. Whoops. You eventually stutter out another thank you and wish him goodnight, and Ford smiles, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully.

“I— I’m happy to listen when I can, of course. Goodnight.”

He leaves, and you feel like both of you pause outside your now closed door, wishing you could say something more, but finding yourselves tongue tied. You hear a quiet sigh outside your door and know you’re right, color flooding to your face at the realization.

Ford’s footsteps travel down the hall and consequently downstairs to his basement, and you climb back into bed, thankfully able to rest now after your conversation with him. Though that doesn’t mean you lie awake for a while before you fall asleep, thinking it over, remembering Ford’s sweet gesture, how his hand felt atop yours, how he mistook your hug for exhaustion and it was… Endearing.

It also doesn’t mean Ford sits in his basement and wonders what would’ve happened if he stayed with you for just a moment longer, let you lean on him for a second more, gathered the courage to take your hand.

… Nope.


End file.
